Leslie driving Tower, familiar. Rainy window shows gray house in the wheat field. Not there before. She veers onto the shoulder. Under yellow umbrella she approaches. Charming dilapidation on red door. She knocks, no reply, enters. Inside white wainscoting, empty picture rail, smell of lavender, worn pine floors, hat stand waiting for her umbrella. Following lavender she enters a parlor, sees a portrait. The man wears a red bowler hat, wisps of brown curls, stern jawline, soft smile, black gray eyes, curious. Leslie determines to meet him. In sunshine she returns to the wheat field. Gray house not there.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Check it out here: http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/.